


One Night in BangCock

by Sanguinifex (Eros_Scribens)



Series: Zevwarden Week 2016 [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Accidental Subspace, Actual body-safe lube in a fantasy setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Crying, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Massage, Multiple Orgasms, Sexual Humor, Synesthesia, ZevWarden Week, Zevwarden Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7674937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eros_Scribens/pseuds/Sanguinifex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alim Surana got around a lot as an apprentice, but he's never actually done anal. Zevran insists that his first time should involve a massage and a real bed.</p><p>For ZevWarden Week, Day 3: On the Road/First Times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night in BangCock

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is actually being posted the next day--errands, fic research, fic ended up 4x as long as planned. See end notes for details.

“You mean to say you have never had your ass fucked?”

“I’ve had fingers up it! Just never...look, how much privacy do you think apprentices got anyway? And most of them have a hard time casting a grease spell neatly till they’re nearly my age. Much less trouble to stick with blowjobs, and the occasional finger.”

“I did not say this was a bad thing.  For one, you have me, which means your first time will be considerably more enjoyable than mine was. But, ideally this is done while completely naked, so we should wait till we have somewhere warmer than this tent, and for that matter a ceiling we will not bump our heads on, no?”

Surana pursed his lips for a moment, calculating. “I don’t suppose by the time we finish talking the Circle into helping Redcliffe, if we manage to do it at all, that it’ll still be early enough to start off the same day. Lady Isolde gave us money for the road; we’ll see if we can get rooms at the Spoiled Princess.”

“Better to send in Alistair, then. Maybe we dress Sten in a hooded cloak to hide his skin, send him to stand threateningly behind him? We will for sure get rooms, or better rooms, or rooms for less coin, that way.”

“I’ll send in Morrigan, too; she can haggle.  I’d say Leliana, but her accent.” That was one of the harder things to get used to, outside the Circle. Elves had definitely had it worse, in the tower, but at least the commissary was not allowed to refuse to sell to them, or charge them extra. The templars and other mages did notice the ears, of course: they judged elves more harshly, they’d always think an elf was more suspicious, pretty elven boys and girls were seen as more acceptable targets, they scrutinized elves’ control of their magic more closely; but it had almost all been little things, the sort of things one does without consciously realizing. In the end, they were first and foremost mages, human and elf alike a robed monolith. Outside, humans saw height and ears first, and never thought about mages at all. They also never thought twice about making their opinions of such well-known, and acting on them. So, given that the only human in their group who’d ever been allowed free run of anywhere bigger than Lothering was an Orlesian, interacting with merchants required strategy meetings.

“A good plan, those three,” said Zevran. “This is going to be fun.”

 

Somehow, Wynne and Surana managed to talk the Circle into sending a team of mages to Redcliffe.  It was true that Connor Guerrin had not yet turned into a full abomination (as of eight days ago, at least); it was true that killing a nobleman’s son ought to be avoided; it was true that the wanted maleficar Jowan might still be in the area and might be more easily lured out by mages; it was true, in the wake of Uldred’s downfall and Irving’s apparent colossal mistake in originally promoting him, that Wynne was effectively the leader of the remaining senior enchanters and in the good graces of Knight-Commander Greagoir. But Alim still hadn’t expected anything beyond a hunter squad. He could hardly believe it.

There would still be Templars coming with, of course. He had no certainty that one of them wouldn’t just decide to silence the entire room and put a sword through Connor Guerrin. But that was a worry for the other end of the road.  For now, everyone was packing and filling out paperwork.  And, as leader of the Grey Wardens, he had been given the responsibility of co-signing the form to check out the fadewalking-strength lyrium.

Said form was not currently in his possession. What he had was a note on a torn scrap of parchment, signed by Irving and Greagoir, telling Owain in the storeroom to give him the actual form. It was oddly reminiscent of the whole rod of fire rigamarole that had started the entire business.

Owain was just outside the storeroom, scrubbing an ichor stain on the floor.  It didn’t seem to be coming off. Without looking up, the Tranquil said, “The floor is wet. Please mind your step.”

“Owain, I’ve got a note saying to give me a request form.”

“Give me a minute. I need to remove this stain from the floor.”

“You can finish later. I need the form, it is urgent.”

“I need to remove the stain from the floor.”

“Owain--”

“I need to remove the stain from the floor.”

Surana had heard about this sort of thing before, but had never seen it. Tranquility didn’t eliminate emotions; it just made it impossible for the Tranquil to properly feel them.  The part of any being that is in the fade is still there, just blocked from the part on this side of the Veil. It isn’t healthy for a person to be cut off from the Fade; the body expects to feel emotions, and that includes the brain. Most commonly, Tranquil were just generally sickly by early middle age. More rarely, usually after something that ought to have been extremely stressful to most people, a Tranquil would “break”--become fixated on one repetitive task, convinced it was the most important thing in the world, to the exclusion of all other orders or often food and sleep.  And Owain had been like this for how long, and in the chaos of renovation nobody had noticed?

“Owain, how long have you been scrubbing at this?”

“I don’t know. It is persistent.”

Well, that was helpful. But the man didn’t look like he’d washed in at least three days, if he guessed right. Suddenly, Surana resolved to make sure Jowan got out of Redcliffe by any means necessary. He still wasn’t harrowed. No one deserved to be fifty years old and kneeling on a stone floor, hopelessly stuck on an impossible task with no one to so much as feed them.

And speaking of Redcliffe, he’d come here for something, hadn’t he. Perhaps if he rephrased…

“Owain, can you tell me where lyrium request forms are in the storeroom?”

“All request forms are in the file drawers to the right and back.”

Luckily, the relevant file drawers were easy to find, ichor-stained and obviously transplanted in a hurry as they were.  He grabbed the form, rolled it up, and stuffed it into his pocket; he’d go downstairs and fill it out in the library.  He started to go out, and then, after a thought, turned back and rummaged through the alchemical supplies section, eventually grabbing a jar of strong, powdered acid.

“Owain, this will help you scrub it, but you have to let me handle it, okay?” He had a barrier spell ready, just in case. Alim sprinkled the powder over the wet stone, shaking the jar. Of course, Owain wanted to scrub it off immediately. “No, you have to let it sit, that way you can scrub it better later.” He gave it about two minutes before he decided that Owain was becoming too agitated, then used half of Owain’s bucket of water to sluice off the acid. The man hadn’t even been using any soap. He ducked back into the storeroom, grabbed a block of lye soap, and handed it to Owain.  Five minutes later, the stain was much lighter, though still visible. Damn porous surfaces.

“I need to remove the stain from the floor still.”

“You’ve made progress. Maybe it’s time to take a break and go to the refectory?”

“I need to remove the stain from the floor.”

If he was honest with himself, he knew that not even an illusion spell showing a pristine floor, or the stain’s genuine disappearance, would convince Owain that the ichor mark was not somehow still there. He made a note to find the nearest Templar and send them up here. And also, to see if there was a way to go back in time and brutally murder whomever had invented the Rite of Tranquility.

 

By the time Surana and Wynne got back to the Spoiled Princess, the others were already settled into their rooms. He and Zevran were sharing the smallest one.  Of course, the three women had to have the largest one, and, to be fair, Alistair and Sten were both tall. It was a real room, though, and the sheets were clean; it would work for what they had in mind.

“You seem tense, amore. You are nervous? Perhaps a massage first?”

“I’m always tense. It’s cold, and I’ve been sleeping in a tent for weeks. A massage would be lovely, actually.”

“You seem more tense than usual.”

“It’s just having to deal with the Circle. I promise you, it’s not your fault.” He didn’t want to have to explain about Owain, or how there simply weren’t enough templars or adult mages to watch the Tranquil and the younger apprentices, or how the tower was even colder than it usually was in winter, or that he’d overheard mages in the library complaining they’d gotten nothing but porridge and bean soup since the last time he’d been there, or that he now knew for sure that a good half the people he’d known well or slept with were dead.

“If you do not want to do this tonight--”

“No, I still want to do this. Waste of a proper bed if we didn’t.”

“Well, then, first let me see what I can do about these knots in your shoulders, no?”

Alim stripped out of robe, shirt, and leggings and lay face-down on the bed. He’d never been so grateful for a cheap straw tick in his life. Zevran poured a bit of something slightly cool on his back--oil, he guessed--and began to dig his fingers into all the tense places.

That was really, really nice.  There were moments of pain, when Zevran’s fingers prodded a particularly tight muscle, but it felt so much better afterwards. Zevran worked across his shoulders, his neck, his arms, down to his back. Alim relaxed into the pleasure of simply being touched, floating almost half-asleep.

He roused a little as Zevran pushed hard at the muscles at the base of his spine.  “You will want your lower back to be especially loose, for what we are going to be doing,” Zevran said in answer to his complaining noise, and kept on, pressing circles into the same spot for a few more minutes, and then continuing on to his buttocks and legs.  Then his feet, which caused Zevran to chuckle at the happy noises Alim made.

“Turn over.”

“Won’t that get oil on the bed?”

“We will get a good many other things on this bed, no? Turn over.”

Alim knew, from a medical standpoint, just how many muscles there were in the arms or legs, but this was an entirely new and more pleasant revelation of that number. And then Zevran began massaging his chest and stomach, and suddenly he was much less on the edge of sleep than he’d been till now.

Zevran saw his growing hardness and laughed softly. “It is good to know my skills are as amazing as ever,” he said.

“You’re literally playing with my nipples right now.”

“And I am doing an excellent job of it.”

“Zevran, the mighty assassin of nipples.”

“No nipple can escape my irresistible charms. Pass me the oil again?”

“Is this for my ass? Check my robe pocket. I swiped some medical lubricant from the Circle infirmary.” He’d eventually had to cast a sleep spell on Owain, at the Templar’s urging, and they’d carried him up there; Alim had decided that after all he’d done for the Circle, the least he deserved was a small vial of lubricating potion.

“Naughty, naughty. Shall I have to spank you?”

“And undo all your work? Besides, not like I haven’t done it before.”

“Such a devious mage I am bedding. Spread your legs a bit, now.” Zevran popped the cork out of the vial and sniffed it.  “Elfroot? You do know this is not supposed to hurt, unless you want it to, if you use enough oil?”

“It’s not enough elfroot to numb anything. Just promotes healing and soothes any pre-existing inflammation.  It’s supposed to be used in the infirmary, for examinations? But it feels less weird than grease, inside you, and it’s better at conducting electricity. We healers are known for creative uses of electricity.”

“Well, it is your ass, so I will use your not-oil on it.” Zevran poured a little onto his fingers, spreading it around. “What else is in this? I think aloe, and a little _ulmus rubra_? Whatever the name is in Trade?”

“Aloe and slippery elm bark, yes, but also electrolyzed glycerin, water, and a very small amount of powdered oats. And a few other things I don’t remember. The real trick is getting it the right consistency without oil. You know herbs quite well, by the way.”

“What kind of assassin would I be, if I did not? It is true we have probably studied different applications of them, but there is some overlap.”

“‘The dose makes the poison.’”

“Indeed. If one’s objective is to eliminate a target without being detected, it is a common practice to administer a lethal dose of a substance they are already taking. I have done so with foxglove or poppy on a number of occasions.”

“And, no doubt, you are aware that there are some things that are only poisons if they are taken with other things. Lyrium and blood lotus is the one they warn mages about. Won’t kill you, probably, but by all accounts extremely unpleasant.”

Zevran had turned his attention back to the not-oil and Alim’s ass, circling his hole and slipping the tip of a finger in and out. “Elfroot. _Panacea vulgaris_. Why is it called ‘elfroot’ in Trade, I am wondering? Why do elves not call it ‘humanroot’? No, that sounds dirty.”

Alim began laughing. “This one time a few years ago, I was sucking someone off and he told me to ‘touch my gnarled elfroot.’ Meaning my penis. I bit him. Didn’t even get in trouble, when I told what happened.”

“‘ _Gnarled elfroot,_ ’” gasped Zevran, resting his head against Alim’s thigh. “That is one of the better alarming names I have heard for it. Certainly the best one, in Trade. Most of the more worrying epithets I have heard for elven genitals were in Antivan, and I am not sure you would comprehend the depth of their awfulness.”

“I’m not sure I want to know. Could you do that thing with my ass again? It was feeling rather nice.”

Zevran resumed fingering Alim’s hole, sliding one finger easily in and out. He liked this part; it didn’t feel quite as good around his finger as it would around his cock, obviously, but this way he could feel intimately every little twitch and gasp of the man he was pleasuring.

“You could put in another finger, now. I’m not entirely new to this.”

“What is the hurry? We have time.”

They did have time. They had a whole night, and a room with a hot fire, and a door that locked, and a bed with a roped frame and a mattress. Certainly it was more privacy and comfort than Alim had once thought possible in his life. So if Zevran wanted to tease, he’d take it. For a little while longer, anyway.

 _Finally_ , Zevran added another finger. He twisted the two fingers slowly in Alim’s ass, then finally crooked them up to find the sensitive gland. Alim squirmed a bit and let out a happy noise, almost a purr. That was another good thing about rooms with thick, lockable doors: no more having to keep quiet and shove a hand or someone’s cock in his mouth. He clenched down around Zevran’s fingers and tried to rock back against the delicious pressure.

“None of that now,” admonished Zevran. “Just relax. We want your ass to be looser right now, no?”

Alim sulked, but he lay back and let loose the muscles in his thighs, despite his increasing arousal. He thought of touching himself, but felt it would earn another reprimand, or worse, the possibility of coming too soon. So he waited, hands under his head, and willed himself to relax and obey.

Zevran had gotten a third finger in Alim’s ass, and was alternating between keeping his fingers in a triangle and flattening them out side by side to stretch the hole more. Alim had gone limp and loose practically on command, and was making nearly constant purring noises, almost without seeming to notice. Zevran shifted his position and put his free hand on Alim’s thigh. Yes, those were the signature micro-movements of deliberate relaxation of reflex muscle tension. He’d said “relax,” but he hadn’t meant that thoroughly.

They were going to have to have a talk about watchwords. Well, they were going to have to have that talk anyway, given what Zevran liked done to himself, but he knew for sure now that Alim was going under without even knowing it. Honestly, he’d suspected it for a while. Well, it was time to get Alim’s brain to turn on again, before they did anything else.

“Alim, you are okay? I did not mean you should not move at all.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No, you just seemed a little disengaged.”

“You said not to move.”

“Just not to clench, really. Do you still want to keep going?”

“I might cry if you didn’t.”

“I think you have had enough of fingers. Are you ready!”

“Please!”

Zevran slicked himself with more lube; it took a bit more control than it really ought to have not to moan at the sensation. Alim was the priority here, not him, he told himself sternly. And then he lined himself up and slowly slid in.

He realized that he himself hadn’t had someone’s ass in several months, what with the disastrous end of his last relationship and his disinterest in anything other than finding a way to get killed in a manner spectacularly damaging to the Crows’ reputation. So the sensation now was unexpectedly intense. Zevran bit his inner lip; he would not screw this up. He was a fully trained Crow _mielero_ , not an inexperienced adolescent. He set his breathing in a measured pattern, and began to move.

Within three thrusts he had found Alim’s prostate and gotten control over himself. Alim, finally taking initiative again, was reaching for his own cock. Zevran stopped him.

“I know you can come twice in a row, and I would wager you can do it the first time without that. Do you want to try?” Warden stamina--neither of them really understood it, but it was definitely an enjoyable advantage.

Alim nodded, chewing his lip with pent-up arousal. “I’ll..I’ll try.”

“If it turns out you cannot, tell me, it is okay.”

And with that, he began fucking Alim in earnest, slamming his hips forward with slow, measured thrusts.

 

Alim, for his part, was realizing just how much more intense this was than fingers. The massage had already been a lot. He was used to full-body cuddling, of course, everyone did that in winter to keep warm in the underheated tower or, in his and Zevran’s case, an underheated tent, but he was pretty sure no one had touched him that much naked since he’d learned to bathe himself. For Tower trysts, mages always kept on as much clothing as possible, in case one got caught. So now another body directly touching his all over, shoving into him against that sweet spot with enough force to jar his spine, was really too much to process--so he didn’t. Alim dropped through to that place in his head where he just stopped thinking about anything other than the sensation, or the impetus against his pelvis that kept forcing sounds from his throat. Really crying out, he discovered, felt almost as good as having his mouth fucked. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to be fucked at both ends at once, but then Zevran started flicking his nipples so hard it hurt, and suddenly imagination took too much trouble. There was nothing but the impact of Zevran’s hips and the twinging in his chest, and the aching, building pressure in his groin. Every nerve screamed for him to touch it, to find release, but he _would not_ , he was going to be good for Zevran. All he wanted was to be good. And then the pressure boiled over and swept through him, sending waves of light up and down his core, mixed with the bright lines of Zevran’s nails scratching down from chest to stomach.

And when it ended, Zevran didn’t stop. Alim was still aroused, but twice as sensitive. Every thrust hurt now, as well as built pleasure, but he didn’t want it to stop, never wanted it to stop. And the brilliant red-white pressure was building again in his cock, but this time it seemed to hover just short of enough. Alim heard himself babbling, as if from far off, _please please it’s too much more it hurts i can’t i need more_.

“ _Tocarte_ \--touch yourself, you know you can if you need to, no?” panted Zevran, himself almost at the end of his own control. He changed his angle a little, without stopping his movement, so he could reach down and knuckle the spot behind Alim’s balls.

Alim finally wrapped his hand around his cock. The head was still too sensitive to really touch, but he could move his hand loosely over the shaft, and rub just the slightest bit over the frenulum.

This time, when he came, it was like purple light and breaking glass. It hurt, but it was release, and he had been _good_ , and he was grateful.

Zevran felt Alim start to spasm around him again, and this time he let the clenching around his cock take him. After holding back for so long, the pulsing of orgasm felt like a succession of vice grips, and he moaned loudly as the pleasure almost punched through him. He’d done it right, though. He hadn’t come too early, and Alim had come twice. They had been extremely loud, and someone was probably going to complain about that, but that could be dealt with in the morning. Now, if only he could stay awake long enough to clean up.

He heard sniffles. Alim was crying.

“You are okay? Something went wrong?”

“I don’t know! I liked it, and it felt good, but then it was over and I just…” he trailed off into sobs.

Well, that was a pretty quick reaction. “You went into your head, no? Stopped thinking and did what you heard?”

Vigorous nodding, and more tears.

“It is not bad. I do it myself, sometimes. You just have to learn not to do it by accident, because then you might agree to things you would not otherwise.”

“I still don’t know why I’m crying!” sobbed Alim, curling up against Zevran.

“Sssh, you are tired. That is why. Mostly. I, too, am falling asleep sitting up, so we will talk more about this in the morning, no?”

“Mmhm.”

“You will be fine, I am sure of it. Now, let us go to sleep, and know that my sleeping body implicitly offers support.”

 

“I think there must have been a tavern brawl last night,” commented Morrigan the next morning, over porridge. “In any case, there was a lot of screaming.  I do hope no one was badly injured.”

Surana turned redder than his hair, and started shoveling oat porridge into his mouth. Zevran knew for a fact that Alim hated the stuff. Oh Maker, this was simply precious.

“Indeed, it was very noisy,” agreed Wynne. “I only hope it won’t happen again at the next inn we pass. Such a shame, to have a real bed for the first time in days, and then it’s too loud to sleep!”

“I GET IT,” said Surana, through the porridge. “We’ll be quieter next time. Or maybe don’t rent three rooms next to each other at the same end of a hall.”

But he did want a next time, Zevran noted. It was only eight days to Redcliffe.

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know how all this plot and meta and magical theory got in, but here it is. The blood lotus/lyrium drug interaction is a nod to Rhapsody-verse ([The Pranksters of Kinloch Hold](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4103356), to be specific.) Speaking of Rhapsody-verse, the title is entirely [penbrydd's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd) fault.
> 
> Also, the lube recipe mentioned would be safe and effective in real life, minus the elfroot, which isn't a primary component. I backformed it from the ingredients list for Pink Water lube (aka what's on my nightstand right now--it's decent, if a bit thin), plus some general herb knowledge from growing up around alternative health nuts/on an organic farm. Actually, slippery elm + water would be a fairly effective lube by itself, if rather unappealing.
> 
> ["Electrolyzed glycerin" is actually (a probably crude form of) propylene glycol](http://davyprotech.com/what-we-do/licensed-processes-and-core-technologies/licensed-processes/propylene-glycol/specification/), the main viscosity component in hypoallergenic/glycerin-free lubes, and can be derived from glycerin in the absence of fossil fuels. Glycerin itself, still a common lube ingredient in modern times, though less body-safe than propylene glycol, [is very easy to make with fairly primitive technology](http://www.wikihow.com/Make-Glycerin/), and the hydrogen necessary for the rest of the reaction [could very easily be made by a moderately skilled electricity mage](http://chemistry.about.com/od/makechemicalsyourself/a/How-To-Make-Hydrogen-Gas.htm), given basic lab equipment. So, Thedas has the technology to produce body-safe lube. No more need to use oil as lube in magic-equipped late antiquity+ fantasy universes! (Unless the characters don't have access to alchemy labs, major cities, circumstances circumstances, blah blah blah.) _I spent three hours mucking around with organic chemistry in the wee hours of the morning for the sake of fantasy characters' vags and asses, so you don't have to._
> 
> (Poor Mr. Zerby. He can't have imagined this would be the way I'd use his class in the real world. On the other hand, he made us do like 50 experiments that were just using hot plates to dehydrate a few milliliters of chemical salt solutions, so up his with moderately impure propylene glycol.)


End file.
